However cynical, or observant, we might be about the religious component of our major feast days, surely we can all agree that one aspect of them - the feasting itself - is worth hanging on to. Cooking becomes a family project, or a series of family projects. And at least one set-piece, sit-down meal is in order to bring the clan together.

Easter is second only to Christmas in its ability to muster general bonhomie, and the will to hug slightly beardie aunts. But who did what to whom a couple of thousand years ago, and whether or not, if they hadn't, we would still have a nutter in the White House, are possibly not the ideal topics of conversation if you are hoping for a relaxing family weekend. How they get the fillings into chocolate eggs will serve you in much better stead.

In fact, the sheer egginess of Easter is, for me, its abiding charm. Eggs - with real shells, from real hens - should always be a food to feel good about, assuming you're prepared to make an informed, ethical choice (see Source It overleaf). OK, on one level, they're the kidnapped unborn offspring of incarcerated fowl. But, looked at another way, a career laying hen may look back with pride on four or five years of producing upwards of 200 eggs a season. Provided she has felt the sun on her back and the wind in her feathers, got to peck at the odd slug and had a comfy nesting box, she may feel it wasn't a bad way for a bird to make a living.

In the kitchen, meanwhile, an egg is a thousand culinary adventures waiting to happen. Or so someone who likes talking in highfalutin clichés once told me. They were right, of course. And my job, in what remains of this festive column, is to select a trio of possible outcomes in the hope that they may add to the pleasures of your holiday weekend.

Of course, you may already have a host of egg-related activities planned for the next 48 hours. But if you don't do something with eggs this weekend, then I shall be forced to conclude that, in the kitchen at least, you lack, well, passion.

Tutti frutti hot cross buns

A mixture of dried fruits, instead of just currants, adds to the fun. The making of this recipe, though, is the dough - and, of course, it has an egg in it. Omit the crosses and you have a bun for all seasons. Makes 16.

Divide 500g flour in half and sift each half into a separate bowl. Mix the cold milk with 125ml boiling water and a good pinch of sugar, to give a lukewarm mix, and add the yeast. When the surface is frothy and the yeast activated, add the liquid to one bowl of flour and mix to a smooth but wet, sticky batter. (If you can get fresh yeast, blend 25g with a little of the milk/water mix, leave until frothy, then add to the flour with the rest of the milk and water.) Leave the batter, covered, in a warm place for 45 minutes. It should almost double in volume.

Mix the other half of the flour with the salt, spice, sugar and dried fruit. Add this to the batter, along with the melted butter and half the beaten egg. Mix with a wooden spoon, adding more beaten egg, but perhaps not all of it, until you have a dough that's on the sticky side but manageable. Knead it in the bowl with well-floured hands until smooth and combined. Leave to rise again for about an hour, until doubled in size.

Grease and lightly flour a couple of baking trays. Turn out the dough on to a floured surface and, without kneading again, cut into two pieces, then four, then eight, then 16. With floured hands, gently shape these into fat, round little buns and put on the trays.

To make the crosses, mix 75g plain flour with about three tablespoons of water to make a thick paste. Roll this out and cut it into thin strips. For each bun, take two finger-long strips, wet one side of each and place over the bun in a cross. Leave for a final rise of 15-20 minutes while you preheat the oven to 200C/400F/gas mark 6.

Brush the buns with beaten egg and bake for 15-20 minutes. Serve the first round warm - the rest will keep for two to three days, and can be reheated in a hot oven for four to five minutes, or split and toasted.

Homemade scotch eggs

Scotch eggs are the sort of thing you might not consider making yourself, but they're really not difficult. DIY means you can use a good, organic sausagemeat, and season it the way you like. Kids will love making these, though a grown-up should do the deep frying. Serves four.

5 large eggs

500g organic pork sausagemeat

A few sage leaves, finely chopped

A good pinch of ground mace

A pinch of cayenne pepper

Salt and freshly ground pepper

Groundnut oil, for frying

3 tbsp plain flour

100g day-old white breadcrumbs

Make sure the eggs are at room temperature. Bring a large pan of water to the boil, lower in four eggs and simmer for seven minutes. Transfer the pan to the sink and run the cold tap into the pan to stop the cooking. When the eggs are cool enough to handle, peel them.

Add to the sausagemeat the sage, mace and cayenne, along with plenty of salt and pepper, and mix well with your hands. Divide into eight equal pieces and shape each piece into a flat patty.

Take two patties and use to encase one egg, moulding the meat smoothly around the egg and making sure it's sealed all over. Repeat with the others.

Pour groundnut oil into a deep-fat fryer or deep, heavy-based pan to a depth of at least 7cm and bring up to 170C (or until a cube of white bread, when dropped in, turns light golden brown in about one minute). Spread the flour on a plate. Beat the remaining egg in a shallow dish. Spread the breadcrumbs on another plate. When the oil is up to temperature, dust each sausagemeat-encased egg in a little flour, then dip it in beaten egg and roll it in breadcrumbs. Lower into the hot oil and fry for eight to 10 minutes, turning from time to time, until deep golden brown all over. Drain on kitchen paper and serve hot, for once. Or cold, later. My favourite accompaniment is creamed spinach.

Customisable baked eggs

Reassuringly old-fashioned, easy and comforting, a baked egg can, at Easter, be customised for each member of the family. Serves two.

2 large eggs, at room temperature

1 large knob butter

2 tbsp double cream

Salt and ground black pepper

Optional extras, around a tablespoon of each (one or two per person)

Wilted, buttered spinach

Little pieces of crisp fried bacon

Fried mushrooms

Grated cheese

Caramelised onions

Mixed herbs (chives, parsley, thyme), chopped

Cooked peas or cooked asparagus, chopped

Preheat the oven to 190C/375F/gas mark 5. Butter two ramekin dishes, then place them in a baking tray. If you're using any of the optional extras, put a tablespoon into each ramekin. Put a tablespoon of cream in each ramekin, then break an egg into each.

Top each egg with a nut of butter and a good pinch of seasoning. Pour boiling water into the baking dish to come halfway up the sides of the ramekins, then bake for 10-15 minutes, depending on how runny you like your yolks. Serve at once.

About this article

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall celebrates the egg

This article appeared on p70 of the Weekend section of the Guardian
on Friday 6 April 2007.
It was published on
the Guardian website
at 05.57 EDT on Saturday 7 April 2007.
It was last modified at 05.57 EDT on Tuesday 10 April 2007.
It was first published at 05.57 EDT on Tuesday 10 April 2007.